


Progress, Nonetheless

by Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cheesy title drop, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, ish, maybe? - Freeform, mostly hannibals POV, one sided hannigram, sometimes Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount/pseuds/Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount
Summary: "Who raped you, Will?"Will sharply looks down from his position up by the shelves, at the man sitting quite comfortably in his chair. His lips part in shock.---Hannibal almost desperately wants to know more about Will.(No graphic description of rape [by my rather degenerate standards anyway]. Rated M mostly for subject matter)
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 120





	Progress, Nonetheless

**Author's Note:**

> I feel happy with this fic rigt now but no doubt, after I post this, all the mistakes will become glaringly obvious 🤡 i pledge to fix these in due time

"Who raped you, Will?"

Will sharply looks down from his position up by the shelves, at the man sitting quite comfortably in his chair. His lips part in shock.

For less than a second, he considers denying it, and before the second is over, he resolves not to. This is Hannibal Lecter. Baldly denying a fact he clearly knows to be true would feel the same as letting him have the upper hand.

Hannibal's eyes look black in the lighting, and he can tell he noticed the hesitation. 

He also notices the way Will's jaw tightens.

"That would be precisely none of your business."

The delivery is coldly flippant, and spoken to the furniture rather than him. Will pulls a random book from the shelf and moves on, continuing to answer the previous question, which had been about his dog habit.

Hannibal leaves it alone, for now.

\---

Hannibal knows he can't press the subject. Not if he wants to undo the admittedly tiny amount of progress he's made so far.  
In recent months, Will's only twice forgotten to keep his guard up and deigned to sit on the couch opposite him, rather than sequester himself by the books. Progress nonetheless. On both occasions Hannibal conducted himself superbly during the session, but allowed himself to stare after Will's back as Hannibal showed him out, in a way he is sure might have made Will uncomfortable if he had known.

Right now, Will's comfort is of the utmost import. His aim is not to get Will to open up about any assault. He rather suspects that Will would never, and his suspicions are usually correct. No, he just wants Will to be comfortable in his presence because…

.

It appeals to him, in a sense. 

Possibly, it is his ego. It would certainly appeal to that part of him, if the skittish Will would eventually come to look him in the eye. 

The superego too. 

The part that feels pleasure in surreptitiously watching Will at his lectures, speaking intimately of his doctor. 

Perhaps two people have ever known Hannibal Lecter the way Will does. He finds himself absently wanting something there. 

He's placidly thought it would be nice, for there to be a communication between the two of them. Open and honest.

Not a likelihood in the least. 

But knowing Will like Will knows him would be almost the same, he thinks. A relationship of the most personal and profound, even if only Hannibal is the only party aware.

Hannibal picks up the book Will had left on the banister, and puts it back in it's rightful place.  
_The Moral Animal: The New Science of Evolutionary Psychology_

Will is surprisingly difficult to know.

\---

Will drives home through a crisp fog, thinking.

\---

He is fortunately in a position to be able to study Will as he currently is, in all his delightful tics and weirdisms, but is unfortunately unable to fathom much beyond that. The workings of Will Graham's mind remains as much a mystery today as it did last week, and the week before that. 

_The character of a man is, without exception, always formed for him._

Hannibal has never considered himself particularly socialist (or capitalist, for that matter), but this particular quote from Robert Owen has stuck with him since his university days. He knows that in this Owen is largely correct, but only in most cases. He has never in his life believed he is the result of anything but his own self. Of course, events and other characters have helped to shape certain perspectives, but ultimately he is only Hannibal, as he has been since birth. 

He thinks of Will, and his surprising admission, if not by words, by implication. It had been a surprise, because it had been a guess. A stab in the dark delivered with conviction.

It would explain a few things about him, perhaps. Aversion to touch, eye contact or otherwise intimacy is a rather cliché symptom of physical trauma, often accompanied by betrayal from a trusted individual. Whether directly, or indirect in the form of turning a blind eye or disbelief when confided in. His father? A sibling? Best friend? Aunt?

It could be any, it could be none. Will Graham is tight lipped about his past. And Hannibal finds himself at a roadblock.

"The character of a…."

"...made for him," Hannibal murmurs very quietly to himself, reseated in his chair in a now darkened room.

Hannibal doubts very much that Will is such a stereotype. Oh, he sincerely believes that Will has indeed been victimised, but he does not believe it to be the answer to the problem of Will Graham. 

Will will be on guard from anymore surprise statements such as the one Hannibal has just ambushed him with. He's almost desperately curious, but it would be unwise and unfruitful both, to attempt to wring anymore information from Will.

\---

Will picks out a canine form in the light mist. He's careful to avoid the screech of the breaks as he slows to a stop. He keeps the lowly rumbling engine running as he hastily grabs the half packet of biltong from his dash and creeps out, leaving the door open so as not to make a noise. All 

thoughts

of anything else are banished from his mind's surface as he narrows in on the animal, proffering dried beef as a peace offering. Twenty feet away, it jumps and flees into the trees.

Will sighs.

It was a fox.

\---

He won't ask Will anything, but even a man as mentally disciplined as Hannibal finds it extremely difficulg to change the almost compulsive direction his thoughts take. If he can, he doesn't attempt it.

He imagines a past Will quite different from the one he knows, cheerful- sociable, even. Drinking with his colleagues from the New Orleans Police Department.  
He then imagines his face wet with tears, pressed against the door of a toilet stall, all attempts to struggle long since abandoned. The force of the intrusions pushing his entire body up against the stall, his inebriated mind foggily understanding what's happening to him, but refusing to fully grasp the situation. He imagines Will sobering up on the toilet seat seat afterwards.

A young Will, young enough for his face to be smooth, old enough that he could face down his father, if he had the confidence. Hannibal imagines Will's father as a dull man, much like his own, but bitter and lonely. He knows that Will's mother was not present, another piece of treasured information about Will's past, but knows little else.  
Maybe Will looks like his mother. Bitter, lonely men are capable of going to great lengths to delude themselves to alleviate pain. He imagines a Will, warped by years of abuse and readily accepting the weight of his father's distortion, aware that if he truly wanted to, he could defend himself. He thinks of a slightly younger Will being woken by hands on his knees, thinks of kicking feet and wildly rolling eyes, the fear in an animal's gaze, horribly aware of it's immediate fate.

He imagines a Will more akin to the one he knows today, stubborn and hiding a mysterious savagery underneath the skin. He mentally observes a scene like it's on a canvas before him, painted in black reds and broken bodies, the lone figure of Will spitting righteous revenge onto the bloody floor.

Hannibal muses over the strange dichotomy of Will, how he can intuitively sense the inhumanity Will hides, while simultaneously understanding that Will is the most human an individual could possibly be. Hannibal does not consider himself a person as others might, but he also knows that only people, with the unique characteristic of empathy could understand him. For all his academic knowledge of the human mind, Hannibal could never fully emulate it. Will is more characteristic of Personhood than anybody else.

For ten more minutes of rumination, more scenarios flit past in increasingly quick succession, each one more depraved and filthy than the last, and Hannibal decides enough is enough. He acknowledges the unbidden feeling flooding his body at the thought of a tearful and vulnerable Will then dismisses it as a product of Hannibal's biological nature as a sexual animal, as all males are. He stands. 

He picks up his attaché case from under his desk, flicks off the last light and leaves his office, firmly locking the door behind him.

\---

\---

Five years later, Hannibal cooks breakfast in their new kitchen, knowing that luring Will down from his bedroom with the smell of food would be far more effective than any other tactics he might employ.

Sure enough, within twenty minutes, Will is seated at the counter fully dressed in a heavy fishermans jumper, cargo trousers and boots. Hannibal is tempted to fix his hair, but isn't necessarily sure whether the proximity would be appreciated, if not protested. 

"Good morning, Will," he says placing a plate of skillet baked eggs and spinach in front of Will, then a bottle of chilli oil next to it.

"Thank you." Will accepts a knife and fork from Hannibal, offering a smile when Hannibal sits down opposite him with his own serving. The smile means less to Hannibal than the fact that Will looked him in the eye as he did it, something that never fails to take him by surprise when it happens. 

Hannibal studies the vulnerable skin of his neck as he turns to admonish the dog. 

In five years, there's been progress. Not so tiny, and he revels in the allowances Will has made for Hannibal in his space. But there are wide gulfs between the full extent of Will, what he is able to observe and what he is allowed to observe.

Out of pure curiosity,

Hannibal repeats the same question he asked five years ago in his office in Baltimore. He's less interested in the details, than whether he'll be answered. 

Will doesn't look up at first and it's hard to tell whether he's surprised. His chewing slows thoughtfully and he swallows his mouthful.

He finally puts the fork down, and studies Hannibal closely, who sees his own curiosity reflected in those bottomless eyes. 

"Thought about that a lot, have you?"

Hannibal says nothing except smile very faintly, assuming the question is rhetorical. He has thought about it a lot. He rarely stops.

Will tilts his head, perhaps in a nod.

After a longer silence, he finally says, 

"It's a lot less interesting than you probably think." 

And he leaves it at that.

Fifteen minutes later, after chatting mundanely about the weather, the dogs, and the strategy for an interview scheduled this evening in the small town police station, Will stands and whistles for the German Shepherd, who bounds up to him so quickly he skids on the tiles. 

Will leads the dog out, and Hannibal stares after his back in a way that he's sure would make Will uncomfortable if he saw.

Progress nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Whats good? Hows ur day been? The kids?Did you like the fic? No? Air your feelings in the comments below, I love you 😗💄 💋


End file.
